The (Boston) Red Line
by someonessomeone
Summary: "I've been taking the train every Monday and Thursday night for two months, and for two months, I've been dreaming about a handsome stranger with auburn hair and pale skin, who sometimes wears glasses and sometimes carries a guitar, and who possibly plays the piano… and we've never exchanged words, until tonight."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. I am just playing around with them.

Every Monday and Thursday night, around 6:30 pm, I take the Red Line across the Charles River, from Boston to Cambridge.

Every Monday and Thursday night, I head to Central Square for classes at The Dance Complex, a collection of dance studios in an old brick building with expansive wooden floors that have seen better days.

Every Monday I take a hip-hop class, and every Thursday I take a belly dance class. I look forward to dancing my ass off with complete abandon each week, because it just makes me feel good, and it's a healthy way for me to reduce my stress. My program at Northeastern is 5 years long with internships staggered between school semesters and it's tough. In the 2 years I've been in Boston, I've picked up and quit smoking, and realized I have a bad habit of emotional eating.

So here I am, trying to find enjoyment in exercise to counteract the stress and eating habits I've struggled with at school.

Every Monday and Thursday night, I make the quick 30 minute trek into Cambridge with my face clean and my brown hair pulled up into a ponytail, dressed for dancing in a tank top with a baggy shirt on top, tight yoga pants, and some sneakers. And almost every Monday and Thursday night since I've started dancing, I've seen him on the train.

He is tall, with broad shoulders and a thin frame making him look slightly lanky. He has pale skin and disheveled auburn hair and I once met his eyes, which are brilliantly green, like the grass in the Boston Garden at the end of the summer, after a nice rain. Sometimes he wears thick hipster frames, and sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has a guitar and sometimes he doesn't.

The first time I saw him, rush hour was ending and I was lucky enough to grab a seat when someone was getting off. I plopped down, exhausted from class and the effort it took to make the red line connection, and I banged my knee on his guitar case in the process. I glanced up to apologize and I saw him. I don't think he even noticed me, or felt the bump.

On busy trains sometimes there's no telling who or what is touching you and it's easier to tune it all out...

I looked away quickly, already hot and getting flustered, and pulled out my book to focus on.

I could feel eyes on me but I doggedly read the same line over and over again until I had relaxed enough to let the anxiety go.

Once I exited onto the platform, I peeked behind me to see he was getting off as well. Embarrassed and sure I'd been caught looking, I almost raced up the stairs to the street.

All during dance that evening, I tried to concentrate on my steps, but I couldn't. I couldn't shake the feeling that I just missed out on something really important.

I wanted to see him again.

I got lucky.

I've been dancing for two months now, and I'm beginning to wonder how I ever lived without it… and the commute. It's the best thing I could have done for myself mentally and physically, even if I do obsess about a perfect stranger.

Alice, a BU student I met in my belly dance class, has been encouraging me to talk to him.

It'd been especially busy that Thursday, 3 sessions into the program, when I rushed into class to find Alice looking at me like the cat that got the canary. "Well?" she asked, grinning at me like she could read my mind as I plopped my bag down and stripped out of my t-shirt.

"Well nothing." I huffed, frustrated. "I stood next to him. I ended up getting shoved to his corner and then held the same pole. There was some beast gripping the pole above my head and I was stretched thin at an awkward angle, and all I could smell was B.O. It wasn't romantic, and again, I don't think he saw me." I was mentally kicking myself. I can get over the occasional bout of random passenger B.O. exposure, but even then, yes, conditions weren't perfect, but I kept letting opportunities to talk to him slip through my fingers.

Alice tied her dark hair back in a low ponytail, looking at me shrewdly. "Ok. The B.O. thing sucks. It really does, but if you're ever going to talk to him, you need to girl up and stop waiting for fate to push you two together. " Opening my mouth to respond, Alice continued, "I know you're interested so stop being scared of him and standing back at the maximum distance. Share his pole another time, on less crowded days, or make a point to sit closer to him. Even, maybe, just walk up and talk to him."

She looked at me, her eyes blazing, "or before you know it, he's going to get off this schedule of his and you'll never see him again, and you'll be writing a missed connections Craigslist ad at 4 in the morning after a bottle of red wine, hoping to God that he'll read it because secretly he feels the very same way."

That would be me. With this guy, I just knew it might come to that, if I didn't grow a backbone and say something.

Alice knew she'd made her point. I didn't know how to respond so I just sat there, watching our instructor queue up the music for our session, while Alice stretched her legs.

Two Thursdays later, I rushed in to class convinced I'd blown it.

"Alice! Alice, " I took a deep breath, " I talked to him."

She grabbed my hands and pulled me down to sitting. "Tell. Me. Everything." she requested.

Wringing my hands, I filled her in. "Well… he was sitting and there was a vacant seat next to him. I sat down without any idea what to do, and noticed sheet music on his lap. It was Debussy. Clair de lune. I couldn't NOT comment. It's one of my favorites that my mother used to play for me." Alice was riveted. "So I just kind of pointed to it and said 'Clair de lune is great.'"

Alice waited "and…" when it was clear I wasn't going to say anything else.

I was miserable. "That's it. He just looked at me. Strangely. There was no conversation at all. "

I'd blown it.

Alice pulled me into her arms, smoothing my hair back from my face. "Oh honey… I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

And that was pretty much the end of it. That was 2 weeks ago.

I've been taking the train every Monday and Thursday night for two months, and for two months, I've been dreaming about a handsome stranger with auburn hair and pale skin, who sometimes wears glasses and sometimes carries a guitar, and who possibly plays the piano… and we've never exchanged words, until tonight.

A/N: Hi everyone out there. I have a pretty decent outline for this fic but I think it will be pretty short. We'll see. I do not have a posting schedule in mind yet, but I'm hoping for once a week. I do not have a beta so all mistakes are mine. xox

Edited 2013-09-02 - Thanks for your feedback and some pointers from the wonderful SunflowerFran! I've tried to break this chapter out into readable chunks, but I'm not sure if a natural break for me equates to a natural break for you. At some points I felt like I was putting a line break between every sentence, so I've gone on feeling. I'm new at this. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. Your reviews are so encouraging! I plan to update chapter 2 in the same manner provided this one works out xox - ss


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. I am just playing around with them.

I'm late. I'm running so late I'm sprinting to the T stop 3 blocks from the apartment I share with two other girls, Angela and Jessica, who are also in my program. Today kicked off a week of no classes to prepare for midterms, and since it is Monday, I'm trying to get to my hip-hop class after hours of studying. I make it to my stop and wait for the next train to Park Street. My mind flits to the stranger. Will I see him? I can't help but associate him with this commute, dancing, or Alice for that matter. I'm embarrassed about the Clair de lune comment but I don't want to dwell on it like I have been. In the past couple of weeks I've been so mortified, I thought about changing my schedule just to avoid him, but I told myself it's ridiculous, and I got on the train anyway. Each ride I would painstakingly keep my gaze locked on any combination of the window, the pole I'm holding onto, or my book. I've told myself I need to let it go and just be. I'm trying so hard to keep my neurosis in check. I've finally resolved, or re-resolved if you count the fact that every time I get on the train, I make this decision again, that I will not make any further attempt to talk to him… But that doesn't mean I can't look forward to seeing him. I switch to the red line at Park Street and there he is in jeans, converse shoes, a t-shirt with an obscure slogan, and a cardigan sweater. He also has his guitar with him. It's past rush hour, but still, I wonder how we always manage to catch the same train.

Tonight like any other night, I get on the train. I'm keenly aware of his presence, like my mind knows exactly how many feet he is from where I sit, and I can feel our energy collide in the empty space. I divert my attention to digging in my bag for my book. I'm reading Outliers, by Malcolm Gladwell, as part of a business course I'm taking next year. I try to read future texts for fun before they're assigned. It helps. It's actually interesting and I'd enjoy it if I weren't hearing snippets of conversation and argument in the next group of seats from me. "…not holdin' right now. Told you not to fuck with me… fuck that… shit… don't owe anything…" and the voices begin to escalate. I glance over to see a tall, blonde haired guy with broad shoulders slam his hand into the handrail as if to emphasize his point. He's standing and leaning over another guy with long dreads, whose arms are crossed, and who looks unlikely to be intimidated. I glance around and notice we're almost across the river between Charles MGH and Kendall so some of these guys must have gotten on at the last stop. As the voices die down, I relax in my seat thinking the argument is over. What seems like seconds later, I hear unintelligible shouting, and the group is standing and almost bouncing with what looks like rude gestures, and posturing, while the train is moving towards Kendall and the light over the city grows darker. The train sways with speed as I watch the drama unfold and we enter the tunnel to go below ground. The blonde guy pulls out a matte black gun and points it in the direction of the man with dreads. Suddenly, the train comes to a grinding, screeching halt and the doors of our car have opened on both sides. I stand, my fight or flight response kicking in, and watch as the gun, now pointing in my direction, goes off.

At first I don't hear anything. Then I hear high-pitched ringing. I'm confused, looking around the train car at the scene in front of me. The group moving to retaliate against the man that pulled the trigger, the ringing all around my head, in my head, my bag heavy on one side of my body. Then a hand on my wrist tugs me backward, quickly, and I stumble into a body behind me. I turn my face and see him, shouting at me, pulling my arm, and trying to get me to follow him out the door, into the darkness. The next time he tugs, I move, pivoting my arm to hold onto his with my hand. It's maybe 3 steps to the doorway and we jump, falling about 4 feet to the ground outside. I land funny and my ankle rolls, but I get up and follow him into the dark while the ringing in my ears begins to fade. The concrete walls of the tunnel, slick and moist with grime, close in on me, giving at most a foot of space on either side of the train. We continue on towards Kendall, the darkness broken by a small light every 100 feet or so. We're not alone. Seemingly everyone else from the train is trying to get to Kendall quickly, merging into the path ahead when the train has been left behind. There are tracks and crevices longing to reach out and twist my ankles again. He doesn't let go of my arm but I stumble anyway. I let go for a second but he finds my hand and takes it in his, asking if I'm ok. I can hear him and I nod yes. I don't know what happened to that bullet but it didn't hit me and there are no other gunshots sounding in my ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. I am just playing around with them.

Snatches of conversation can be heard between the stomping of feet and rustling debris. We're all in a hurry to get out, to speak to people, to talk to the police… and since we're underground our phones don't work.

His hand burns in mine, strong and warm. In this moment, it's the only real thing in my life.

The air, stagnant and weighted, presses down to smother me while my lungs pump it into my body. Our legs bring us closer to a lighted area, growing more and more distinct in the distance.

Within minutes, the Kendall station platform, with its gray floors and photographic art in black and white comes into focus, and I see police officers waiting, as the first members of our group reach the fluorescent light and begin to haul themselves up and out of the tracks.

In the increasing light, I look back to see other frightened faces emerge out of the darkness behind me. Two rumpled businessmen pick up speed when they see the platform, but one teenage boy offers to carry bags for a mother struggling under the weight of her confused and squirming daughter.

He releases my hand, and I glance up at him. His face is open and questioning. I scan my memory but don't recall hearing him address me.

"Sorry, what?" I stammer.

"Are you ok?" he asks. "You seem fine." He's almost examining me, looking me over … looking for blood perhaps.

My ears still ring faintly. "Y-y-yeah." I respond with difficulty, suddenly noticing my shaking hands and rapidly numbing arms. I rub them swiftly, up and down with my hands, heading towards the platform.

I need to get away.

I don't feel well.

I can't breathe.

My throat is thick.

I find myself at the edge of the platform, and it's as high as my shoulders. Suddenly, one of the police officers is in front of me, offering his hand, and I feel warm, steady hands around my waist, as well. Before I can deny the help, the officer is pulling me, and my mystery guy is lifting and pushing me to higher ground. I go straight for the stairs and sit down near the wall, digging my water bottle out of my backpack and taking long pulls, swallowing them quickly, feeling the cold liquid move down my throat, the passage still wide enough to tell me I can get air through it too. I focus on the cool water, the rhythm of lifting the bottle, taking the fluid into my mouth, swallowing it, breathing out, breathing in, taking another sip. I'm off to the side, seemingly isolated in the T station, but the police are near and plenty of witnesses, as well.

I tell myself nothing is wrong.

I'm going to be fine.

It's just a little panic.

Minutes, or maybe hours later, I see him approaching in my peripheral vision. He's cautious, taking his time, giving me space. I look over and smile at him, tucking some lose hair behind my ear, and capping my water bottle.

"Hi …" I sigh and smile, still somewhat shaky. "I'm having a little anxiety. I'm so sorry …" and I stop before I start to babble.

He laughs a little. "Oh no, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm jittery too. Adrenaline rush …"

He smiles and seems to wait for me to speak. When I don't, he meets my gaze directly… "I don't know about you, but I could really go for a beer."

I think my brain is starting to catch up with my body, and suddenly beer sounds like the answer to all my problems. "Oh God, me too," I say, hastily packing my bottle into my bag and zipping it up. "Where? I don't know this area."

~~trl~~

We walk through a hotel near the T station and come out on the backside. He points out a large bar at the end of the block. A sign hangs from above the door emblazoned with the name Meadhall. We move through the door, into the warm light and towards the bar. We never question getting a table. He pulls a seat out for me and takes the one next to it while the bartender slides some menus our way. One glance behind the bar tells me this place is full of delicious craft beer, on tap.

I decide to break the awkward silence by introducing myself. "I'm Bella." He's caught by surprise, and huffs a smile at my direction, rolling his eyes. "Of course you are, and I'm Edward." We laugh. "I can't believe I didn't know your name … " he continues. "I guess I feel like I know you."

He's direct, and I have to dig deep for the confidence to match him.

"Yeah. I see you most days on the train though. Going home?" I ask just as the bartender comes back. I indicate that I'd like a pumpkin ale from a brewery in Western Mass while he gets a local IPA, responding to my question "Yeah, I live in Central." Oh, that explains it.

"Ah. I go there to dance." I say, nudging my bag on the floor. I tug at my tank top and yoga pants, noticing how cool it is inside.

"At the Dance Complex?"

I smile. "Yes, how do you know it?" I slide off the barstool and stoop for my layer as our drinks arrive.

He takes a pull of his. "I have a friend that plays bongos there on Saturdays. I've thought about joining him. I don't know much about it though, but you can't help hearing the music most days."

"Oh, I haven't heard it. Definitely not in either of the classes I take. Do you play drums too? I've seen you with a guitar."

He nods, "Yep, drums, guitar, and piano. A few other instruments, but I don't know them nearly as well."

I blush.

"Right, Clare De Lune." I busy myself with my delicious pumpkin beer. I am so happy fall is on its way to Boston.

"Yeah," he replies, gazing at me. He doesn't look concerned. Maybe he doesn't remember the exchange on the train. With everything in me, I hope not. "What else do you do?" he continues. "Are you in school, maybe dance or other performance art? Are you a musician?"

"No, not for dance, I mean, yes for school, but I'm a business major. The dancing is just for fun. I'm at Northeastern." I explain, and as an afterthought, "I am definitely not a musician." I chuckle slightly. This conversation is feeling less forced and I'm starting to relax.

"Oh that's cool, my girlfriend goes there. She's in her last year for Studio Art. " He tells me, nodding.

My heart sinks.

My heart drops from my chest into my stomach. I am so very disappointed.

"She's studying abroad this semester, so I haven't been on that side of town lately, but I know my way around that area. Do you live in Mission Hill?" he continues, oblivious to my heartache. Tonight has been one shock after another.

I've never seen him with anyone, and I know nothing about him. I never really thought I had a shot in hell, but this hurts. Between the fight on the train and the near miss this evening, the escape through the tunnel on foot, his steady hand holding mine, and now this easy conversation and good beer, my mind is officially overloaded. I struggle to remember what he just asked. Mission … Mission Hill?

"Oh. No. I live really close to school… but I do have some friends out that way …" I am dejected.

Desolate.

"Hey," he says, leaning forward a little, "how are you feeling?"

His eyes search mine, and when they meet, he gives me a small smile. His beer is almost gone. I glance down and see that I'm on the last bit in my pint glass too.

"I'm relaxed now, overloaded, I don't know… I feel lost. Confused. Do I need to speak to the police?" It all comes back to me. I know he spoke with them.

"No. No, don't worry about that. I talked to one of the officers back at the T stop. He took my name and number, and gave me his card. He said they probably have everything on the security cameras but he'll give me a call if he needs an eyewitness account."

I stare straight at him. "Eyewitness … did you see it?"

"Yeah. I was right next to you, watching the argument. I saw the gun and pulled the emergency stop lever. You were in shock." He's so calm, explaining this to me.

"Right, that makes sense …" I say, as the scene sinks in. "Thank you so much, for your help, for everything." My beer is gone, and I look down into my glass. He places his hand on mine, and I look up into his warm green eyes, questioningly.

"You're welcome Bella." He's holding my hand, and I feel … found.

Centered.

I know I can't be his friend, and I can't see him again.

Pulling back, I smile and move to get off my stool. "Thank you for the beer and the ear. I know we didn't talk about much, but it's really helped me calm down after everything, you know, to take a step back, away from the stress of the night."

I dig out my wallet and pull out a ten. He puts his hand on mine again. "I want to get this." He insists on paying for my beer, so I let him. Hefting my bag over my shoulder, I reply. "Ok. Well, goodnight. See you around."

I'm awkward.

I'm brokenhearted.

I just want to go home. I just want this night to be over.

"Bella, wait!" he's walking after me, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. "Are you taking the train home?"

"Cab." I reply. "There's a cab stand by the T entrance."

"Ok." He looks like he wants to say more. Then … "I'll walk you to the cab stand. I'm walking home." He searches my face again. I don't know what he's looking for.

I smile and push open the door. I see the line of cabs as soon as we exit the hotel lobby. A sudden gust of wind blows my hair across my face. "Thanks again Edward. I'll see you around." I kind of bounce a little and move to leave, but he's suddenly got me in a hug, his arms tight around me. My face is buried in his shoulder, and he smells like safety, warmth, and home. With this realization, I go rigid in his arms.

"I'll see you on the train" he says.

I turn and head for the first cab, crawling in and telling the driver where to take me. As we pull away, I notice Edward still standing on the sidewalk where I left him. He lifts his hand in a wave.

He'll see me on the train.

I'll see him on the train.

If I ever take the train again…

A/N: This story has been beta'd by the marvelous and lovely SunflowerFran. I adore her, and appreciate all her encouragement and help! Thank you readers, so SO much for reading and for your reviews! I read and value every single one of them. Of course, you don't need to review. I just love the response. xox - ss


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters. I am just playing around with them.

It's hard to believe how fast the temperature has dropped, and I shiver in the brisk air as I exit the cab. I feel like a different person as I climb the stairs to my apartment and unlock the door. In a way, I am. A few hours ago I was a mentally exhausted student heading off to dance class, with a crush on an unknown guy. Since then, I've nearly been shot, skipped my class, and had a drink with my completely unavailable crush.

I need something to make this day disappear, but a hot bath and a good night of sleep will have to do.

Upon entering the apartment, I find Jess and Angela camped out on the couch watching Legally Blonde. Their heads swivel in my direction. Busted. They didn't expect me back so early, and I happen to know that this is at least the 3rd time Jessica has watched this movie since the semester started. I take a beat to appreciate the comedy of the moment; Jessica: handful of popcorn, suspended in midair halfway to her mouth and Angela, leaning around her, pushing her glasses back up her nose. I love these girls.

"Bella Swan … what happened to 'Me' time?" Angela forcefully questions. She's usually the sweet mother hen type, but I think Jess has really been rubbing off on her lately.

"I know! You've been making me feel lazy all day, and I finally got Angie to watch this movie and bam!" Jess gestures at me with her buttery hand, speaking around a mouthful of popcorn.

They crack me up.

Dropping my bag, I cross to the kitchen. "I left early. Hip hop and cramps. " I fib, grabbing another beer from the fridge; I really don't want to talk about it right now. It wouldn't be the two sentences I'm willing to utter. I'd have to elaborate, describe, and I love my friends, but right now I just want to forget about it. I pause on my way to the couch, holding up my Sam Lager. "Anyone want one?" As it turns out, I'm not the only thirsty lady in the apartment, so I go back for two more and make my way to the couch. Elle is enthusiastically telling her fellow peers about Cameron Diaz and a truly heinous angora sweater. I love this movie, too. Settling between Jess and Angie, I bring the bottle to my lips and tip it back.

The remainder of the night is perfect. We drink the rest of the twelve pack, giggle about dumbass Warner and awesome Elle, and we practice our Bend and Snap. When we are out of beer, we grab the wine. I don't think about Edward at all.

Not even a little bit.

I don't think about the train.

Not once.

I just keep drinking.

One after the other, until I'm spinning; and I notice Jess and Angie are asleep on the couch. They look comfortable, so I leave them there and stumble off to my room, collapsing on the bed.

~*trl*~

Tuesday.

This morning is harsh. I'm anxious, sweaty, and I tossed and turned all night. I got up more than four times to pee. I am so thirsty, and my head is splitting. I think I'll stay in bed today.

After taking ibuprofen and refilling my Nalgene, I crawl back under the covers.

~*trl*~

Wednesday.

I blew off Jess and Angela when they checked on me, claiming cramps, but I think they assumed hangover and thankfully left me alone. Today I am not getting off the hook so easily.

Around 10 am, Jessica bursts into my room. "Suh…Uh…UHN!" she sings loudly, in a piercing tone. "Hey, it's the sun! And it makes me shine!" She bounces by my bed, tearing the curtains open. "Hey, now! It's the sun! And it makes me shine!" She's at my feet now, drumming on my legs with her hands, moving up my body.

I wish for her to go away. Please, please, no Polyphonic Spree this morning. I am not happy today.

I wiggle as she tickles me through the covers.

"Ah, ha! I knew you were alive!" she exclaims, reaching up to drag the covers off of my head.

"Bella!" she singsongs, her face popping into my blurry view.

I roll over. "What."

"It's time to get up Sunshine! It's a new day, a hangover free day. A day for STUDYING!"

Ugh. Studying. "What time is it?" I wonder, out loud.

"Ten beautiful o'clock in the morning." She informs me, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "Jesus Bella, are you ok? You look sick. Like, not period sick."

I sigh, rolling over onto my back.

Damn, I have to study. I need to study. I have midterms next week. "I'm feeling like crap, but maybe I just need a shower."

"Oh yeah, you do." She agrees, nodding enthusiastically at me.

"Ha. Ha. Thanks Jess." This girl really knows how to raise my self-esteem.

"Just keep'in it real." She raises one eyebrow at me. "I did quite well yesterday. I only procrastinated half the day! I studied for four entire hours, and then I painted Angie's toenails." She smiles at me. This is a big accomplishment for her.

Hell, it's an accomplishment for me right now.

"That's great." I reply, with as much enthusiasm as I can gather.

"Uh huh. Sure. Well… breakfast is ready. I made us some gourmet breakfast burritos, and they're in the oven keeping warm. Come hell or high water, I will study for six hours today."

My appetite perks up at the mention of her breakfast burritos. The recipe was imparted to Jess by her mother who learned to make them during a road trip to Mexico in the early 70's. The morning after a sleepover, she'd make them for Jess and me, regaling us with stories from her epic road trip, and a man named Arturo. Jess, Angela and I grew up in a small town, in Western Washington State, and as unlikely as it happens to be, we ended up in Boston together. However, unlike us, Angie does not go to Northeastern. She attends Berklee College of Music, for Music Education.

"I'm proud of you." I smile. "Plus I will do anything for your burritos. You know this." Getting out of bed, I twist my hair off my neck and secure it with a clip.

She smiles at me, knowing she just won a battle. I follow her out to the kitchen nook.

~*trl*~

It's Thursday evening. After a rough day of studying, I decide to kill some of my brain cells with a visit to my favorite bar, Bukowski's, just a quick walk away. It's pretentious and stuffy, and all the right colors that a good bar should be, and I am hoping I'll be left alone.

I hurry down the street keeping to well-lit areas, hands in my jacket pockets, eyes meeting those of every passerby. My dad, Charlie, instilled these habits in me when I decided to attend college in a major city. He's protective, but he's also a police chief, and I try to do right by him. I know how much he worries.

And after last Monday … well, he's right to worry.

I feel the glow of the warm lights and the heat lamps near the door as I reach the bar. It's Thirsty Thursday, so it's not exactly empty, but the night is still young. It's only 8 o'clock. I take a seat at the bar, draping my jacket over the back of the stool and loosening my scarf. This week has seen a sharp drop in temperature, and I'm not used to it yet, but I love it.

I'm immersed in warm reds, deep oranges, and rich wooden surfaces. The dim lights cast a subtle glow across the bar, and I feel myself begin to relax. I'm going to start with a cider, because I'm really feeling the season.

I'm studying the menu when he approaches me.

"Hi, what can I get for you?"

I stare at the bartender. It's the same guy Jess was checking out the last time we were in here. She went on and on about how he must take care of himself, judging by his muscles, clean clothes, and clear, russet skin.

"An Original Sin?" Sometimes I feel like such a child, asking for permission to drink. I am twenty-one after all.

"Sure, just need to check your ID." He smiles at me, seemingly embarrassed.

"Of course." I fish it out of my wallet. Now I feel bad, and I don't know why exactly. He's vulnerable. I don't know him, but he's not putting up a front, and I guess I appreciate that. It's endearing, to see something personal in someone; a stranger, out in public, like the random guy you occasionally see who is clearly having a rough day, sitting at the end of the bar. I always want to hug that guy.

Oh god, am I 'that guy'?

I need to stop thinking. I hate wallowing. I hate that I am feeling this way.

The way I've been feeling for days.

Keyed up.

Lost.

Pointless.

Like I'm just going through the motions.

My laughter feels empty. My chest feels hollow. My friends don't fill it up. Studying feels like a waste of perfectly, good time, but what else would I do with it?

I'm doing what I know I should be doing. What I have to do.

But I'm not sleeping well.

I'm thinking too much about things I don't want to think about.

I'm dreaming nightmares that leave me with anxiety for the entire next day, yet I can't remember them.

I've been taking Nyquil to fall asleep at night because I can't get my brain to turn off.

I just want to enjoy myself again. Be someone new.

Tonight is that night.

"I'm sorry, what?" I question. I've zoned out, and he's looking at me expectantly. I've been a space cadet lately.

"I gave your ID back. I'll get the cider for you. Do you want to start a mug? It's technically for beer only, but I'll make an exception." He speaks rather quickly, and I realize he's possibly making conversation.

"Yeah, definitely. I come in here occasionally. Best beer selection around." I smile.

"Rock on. Now you'll have another reason to come in." He taps the bar and walks away.

I notice a stack of Boston Metro's at the end of the bar and lean over to pick one up. Lucky for me, the top one I happen to grab was written two days ago, and the cover photo is one of a familiar T stop, blocked off with police tape. I put it back on the stack and turn to find my cider waiting for me.

Later, I'm putting all my effort into enjoying my drink, texting with Jess, who is home studying with Angie, and likely not actually studying, when he slides into the seat next to me.

"Do you mind if I sit here and have a beer next to you?" He questions warily.

"Wha? Yeah." My brain catches up with my mouth. "Oh, my gosh, yeah of course. But aren't you working?"

He gives me a relieved smile. "I don't usually work Thursday. I was covering for Rosalie." He motions to a tall, blonde bartender, her back to us, tapping buttons on the register.

"Awesome. What do you usually do on Thursday?" I suddenly don't mind the standard getting-to-know-you questions. Must be the cider…

"Homework. I'm at BU for Computer Science." He takes a pull from his fresh beer.

Sometime later, he's laughing at something I've said, and I'm leaning slightly towards him. The bar is rowdier, and my stomach is growling,

"Oh, my God, I'm hungry." I announce, feeling a little faint. I had some breakfast this morning, but I can't remember if I ate lunch, or dinner.

"Have you ever eaten here before, this place has great food. I am in a deep and meaningful relationship with the grilled cheese." He passes me a menu.

Everything looks good.

"Wow. There's so much. Pick something for me." I giggle again, pushing the menu towards him. "But," I pause, dramatically, "I want to try the grilled cheese."

"Sure, sure, we can split the grilled cheese and … the pulled pork sandwich." He is smiling too, and his cheeks are red.

It's 10 o'clock. I've been sitting with him for about an hour, and I'm actually enjoying myself.

He orders another round from Rosalie and by the time our food arrives, we're both ravenous, and I'm drunk.

We've covered where my friends are, my program, the crazy bar patrons (read: college students) and how he categorizes them into schools (not by school logo, it's very scientific), his friends and their majors, and Washington, Maine where he grew up. Jake, who is twenty-two, and in his last year of school, is well versed in the art of bartending, because his uncle owns the 'Town' bar back home.

I think Jake is my new best friend.

Hours later, I feel tapping on my shoulder, turning around to face none other than one, very frustrated Jessica Stanley, with a sleepy Angela in tow.

"Oh, my gah JESS! I was jus telling Jake abou youuuuu!" I slur.

"I bet you were." She is fuming, but I'm a bit too drunk to notice anything else. "Bella, it's time to go home."

Spinning around, it takes a beat for the room to come back into focus.

Damn, she's right.

"Ok. Jake! Jake, we have ta hang ou again. Where's yur phone?" I punch in my number and call myself. My phone buzzes deep inside my pocket, where it's been for who knows how long. "THERE'S my phone!" I exclaim, triumphantly.

Jake is laughing so hard; he's got tears in his eyes. Jess wants to be mad, but I catch her snorting a little in Jakes direction. "Okay, see ya Bella. It was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you Jake!" I salute him as Jess tugs me out of the bar.

~*trl*~

The next week passes in a blur of studying, text messages, beers with Jake, midterms, and subsequent partying at BU, with Jake. Jess and Angela come with me sometimes. It's a blast to hop on the green line a few stops to Kenmore or meet up for drinks at the Dugout. Jakes friends are awesome, and we all get along. Erik, one of his buddies, cozies up to Angela one night.

I know it's irrational, but I haven't set foot on the red line since that night, and I've skipped all my dance classes for two weeks.

At this point, I have no idea if I'm ever going back.

The following week is business as usual with school, except I skip dance classes again, but I spend the time with Jake.

~*trl*~

That Tuesday, I log into Facebook and gasp in surprise. I have a message and friend request from one Alice Brandon.

I miss her.

_Bella! I found you! I miss you! Where have you been? Is everything ok? Why are you skipping dance? Are you ever coming back? I want to hang out! How did midterms go? Do you have time for a coffee or beer? I was really surprised there weren't more Bella Swans on here. Call me! Text me! 617-xxx-xxxx. PS. If I don't hear from you, I will be brokenhearted. Love, Alice_

Oh Alice. I marvel at her use of explanation points as I twist my greasy, unwashed hair around a finger, sighing.

I'm so glad she got in touch with me, and I do want to see her. By avoiding the train, I have been missing out on more than just dance, and Edward. I've been missing a friend. But her bubbliness is not something I'm looking forward to right now. I don't know if I have enough energy to commit to a long conversation, especially over coffee. Sweet, scattered Alice, and coffee...

No, definitely not.

But beer. I perk up at the thought.

She did offer beer, and beer I can do.

The request blurs in front of me as I rhythmically twist my hair, drifting back to that night on the train. I see the mouth of the gun. I feel the train brake, throwing me into the next empty seat, the fabric scratching against my arm.

Am I going to tell Alice about it?

With equal parts of dread and warmth, I accept her friend request, reply to her message, and give her my phone number.

~*trl*~

We decided to meet at the Dugout the next night, and this cheers me up. The Dugout is a BU bar. I've been there with Jake. It's a total dive, and I was thrilled when she suggested it. It's a place for getting drunk, not for beer snobbery, so it suits my purposes just fine.

I take the Green Line to meet Alice, and for the first time, I realize it's so easy for me to hop on this train even though taking the Red Line seems impossible. My heart takes a hit at the thought. I feel fear, but stronger than that, I feel heartache. If I could, I'd just open up the sky, rain down my own tears, and wash away in them.

These feelings aren't attached to the shooting though.

They're attached to him.

Edward.

I hope Alice doesn't ask me about him. It's ridiculous for me to feel this way I know, but it hurts to think about the beautiful boy on the train, because in reality, what do I really know about him? How can I feel like someone is missing from my life when they were never there in the first place?

After descending the steps into the dark hole that is the Dugout, I smile warily at Alice. She's seated in a little booth facing the door, and her face lights up when she sees me.

"Bella!" She squeals while getting up to give me a hug over the table. I take my jacket off, and loosen my scarf, smiling at her.

"Alice. I'm so glad you got in touch. How have you been?" I set my stuff down. "What are you drinking?" I eye her beer before glancing at the bar and squinting at the taps.

"Peroni. I don't know why I ordered this. It's like Miller Light from Italy."

"Yeah. I think I'll just go with Sam." I pull my wallet out and head to the bar, feeling awkward. Thankfully, the bartender saves me, and I trade him cash for a pint of beer.

"So Alice, how've you been? How were midterms?" I ask, setting my glass down on the table.

"Uh uh. No." She exclaims, shaking her head at me. "I want to know what's up with you. You've been skipping dance, AND you look awful! I'm sorry, but it's true. And I get the sense that if I hadn't reached out to you, I'd never see you again."

She's waiting for me to say something, and when I don't, she continues. "Bella. I really want us to be friends. I will back off if you don't want to dance anymore. I get that, although I'm dying to hear why, but more importantly, I just want to hang out with you. I've been in Boston for a few years now, and I have friends ... but I don't have one person that I'm really close to. Not a real, true, close friend. I'm embarrassed to be saying this, but I thought that was changing when I met you." She's looking at me with big, sincere eyes. "Please don't shut me out."

I take a swig of my beer.

Damnit. I'm going to talk to her. I can already feel myself caving.

"Alice. I feel really close to you, too. I looked forward to seeing you every week. I didn't know how to ask for your number."

She smiles at me, and I feel better.

I feel like I mean it.

I do mean it.

Just seeing Alice makes me feel a little bit better than I have since the incident. She is a real friend, and I know I can confide in her.

I'm not feeling nearly as empty.

Well, not completely.

"I really don't know how to start this story. I haven't talked to anyone about it. I've been in a pretty bad funk since the last time I saw you."

I'm tracing a pattern in the condensation on my glass when I feel Alice's hand on mine. She holds it steady, smiling; encouraging me to continue.

I sigh, and let the story out.

….

Alice is stunned. I have a feeling we'll be here all night.

"Wait a minute." She says, holding up her hand. Then she scoots around the table to me and pulls me in for a hug. Alice is a hugger. She rocks side to side and rubs my back. After a few seconds I realize she is totally committed to this hug, so I relax into it. I let her comfort me.

Finally, she pulls away, putting both hands on my upper arms. "Holy shit. We need another round. I'm buying." She dares me to disagree.

I don't.

She plunks our fresh beers down on the table. No more Peroni for Alice.

"First of all, holy shit Bella, and cheers to your survival." She's nodding and raising her glass to me in a toast. I clink mine to hers with a chuckle.

"Cheers to that." I take a deep pull and set it back down.

Alice continues … "I don't even know where to begin after hearing that Bella. I read about it in the newspaper and saw it on TV. Did you know they arrested those guys last week?"

"What? No. Really?"

She nods emphatically. "Yes, really. The one with the gun was a low-life local who had been in and out of juvie forever. I think this was a gang fight or drug problem or something. Who knows? He's in jail right now. It was a big story. They even showed the video clips from the train. I'm sure you'll be able to find it on YouTube or something, if you even want to see it. I wonder if you were recorded, as well. "

"I am really not interested in seeing any clips from that night. If I could forget it, I would."

"Yeah. I understand. I mean I don't, not really, and I doubt many people would be able to comprehend a situation as messed up as that, but I'm sympathetic, and thinking about myself in your shoes, I can see why you'd want to move on from that night."

"Yeah."

We drink.

"So you're avoiding the train now? Is that why you have been skipping dance?"

"No … not exactly." I tell her, looking down at the table again. My head is fuzzy, and my heart hurts.

I thought I was avoiding the train out of fear of what happened that night. The memory of the tunnels wells up in my eyes like a dark figure looming in the back of the room, just out of focus. But I know I can conquer them if I choose to. I haven't slept well since that night, and my dreams, though mostly unintelligible, always feature one man, just out of reach.

I can feel tears prick my eyes.

"It's Edward. I'm so sad and disappointed." I look up at her, and in a gesture entirely too girlish for me I start to fan my eyes. "I don't want to be such a girly-girl and wax poetic about how we were meant to be, and all that bullshit. Or even about how we had a connection … I mean, I never really thought I had a chance, but … I feel like my heart is broken, and I don't want to see him. I don't want to bump into him."

A few tears escape, and I soak them up with my shirt cuff.

"Oh, sweetie." Alice coos. "I know I haven't known you for long, but what we have discussed in our limited time before and after class, tells me you're not a supercilious person. You're careful with yourself. You don't get interested in just anybody. From the story you just told me, it sounds like this affection wasn't one sided."

"Even if it wasn't" I sniffle, draining my beer, " he's involved with someone else, and he's serious enough to be committed to her while she's studying abroad. I just need to move on."

"Yeah." Alice agrees with me.

"I just don't want to see him again, on the train, or anywhere else. I wouldn't know what to say or how to act. If I'm this torn up from one session of tunnel handholding, and beer at a bar, then an acquaintanceship or friendship is going to kill me."

"Bella, I get all that. I really do. But you have to live your life, too. Get back into your routine. Do things that you enjoy. Take care of yourself. This is hiding. He didn't save your life so you could live it timidly in the dark. Please, please think about it. Avoiding him will only keep you from the life you had enjoyed before this happened. You need to move on. You need to grieve."

I snort a little, swirling my glass.

"Yes grieve. It's a thing. There are stages, and it doesn't just happen with death. It can happen with any loss. I think you're grieving."

She has a point.

"I might be, Alice. I might be."

….

When we hug goodbye, I hold her for just a bit longer and just a bit tighter than I usually do.

"Thanks Alice." I smile, watching my breath puff out in front of my face.

"Anytime Bella. See ya Monday! Text me if you want to kick it before then."

We part ways with a promise to meet up early before dance next week. I'm not sure how I'll get to Central yet, but I will try to retrieve some of the routine I had so carefully cultivated before the incident on the train occurred.

~*trl*~

The next Friday night, a little over three weeks after we met, Jake kisses me.

He's walking me to the train at Kenmore. The huge CITGO sign is lighting up the sky ahead of us while the crowd roars at Fenway, and we're holding hands, inside his jacket pocket. The wind is piercing tonight, and I huddle into his side. We're both underdressed for the weather, so we're walking quickly.

"I can't believe you've never been to a ball game, Bella. Are you serious? You're serious right now, aren't you?" He is shocked by my confession, as we duck into the stairwell that leads down into the underground T stop. His Boston Red Sox baseball cap is affronted.

"I just never had time for it before." I explain. "My Dad is a big Mariners' fan, and I would have gone with him, but I don't know, he never went to a game. He fishes in his spare time. Seattle is pretty far from my hometown." I'm blowing into my hands, rubbing them together to keep warm. It's much better, being out of the wind like this.

He takes my hands into his, warm from his pockets. Lacing his fingers with mine, he says "If I asked you on a date, to a Sox game, would you say yes?" He's serious and still.

Gazing into his brown eyes, rich like milk chocolate, my heart picks up. Jake wants to date me. Until now we've been cozy, but holding hands is the closest we've gotten. I assumed he was into me as a friend and nothing more.

I think about Edward, with his girlfriend who goes to Northeastern, but is studying abroad… and I know that door is closed to me.

Jake doesn't make me feel like Edward does, but that's good. It's different. Jake is a surprise in all the right ways. He's like a gentle giant, so warm, and caring. He makes me feel safe. He's not my type, but I can't deny that he's handsome, and something about the way he's looking at me makes me shy and excited.

I need to move on and get over Edward.

I lean forward, trying to focus on Jake's eyes, his smile, and not on the differences between him and the person my heart really wants.

"Yes …" I breathe.

In the next moment, his lips are on mine. They're soft; his mouth is open, and panting puffs of fresh breath onto my face. I open my lips to breathe him in, and take his bottom lip between mine. I sigh. His hands are in my hair, his thumbs on either side of my face, and I feel so special; cherished.

This is what I need.

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Thank you so much for waiting so long for this chapter. It was difficult to write. My heartfelt thanks go out to my lovely Beta – SunflowerFran! She's amazing and she made this chapter readable. And about the cliffie… don't despair… this is an Edward/Bella story, I just love UST and angst. xox - ss


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